Songs About Jane Lane
by with caution
Summary: In which Jane finds out that Trent has written more than one song about her.
1. Track 1

_Partially inspired by a certain album, partially inspired by S02 E12._

* * *

"Later, Daria." Jane shut the door of Casa Lane after her friend and walked into the kitchen. For no particular reason, she opened the refrigerator, knowing there would only be a single beer, a half empty (or full, depending on your outlook,) bottle of water and a few packets of mustard inside. "Nothing to see here." She grumbled.

Upstairs, she got out her canvas and paints. She'd been working on an avant-garde piece for a couple of days and she was ready to finish up. "Hey," Trent called from her doorway.

"What's up?" She dipped the paint brush in mauve.

"Would you mind listening to something?" He sounded unsure and somewhat nervous. In asking her opinion, he had exposed some insecurity, apparently. She shrugged and followed him to his room.

Since they were small, Trent and Jane were closest to each other in their family, including their parents. They supported one another and that's just the way it had always been. She could still remember a time when he asked for her opinion quite often.

Trent sat with his acoustic on the floor amid a sea of dirty clothes. "Okay, it starts off like this..." he strummed a few chords and a refrain. When he finished, he looked up at her, as if he were a dog awaiting a treat.

"Trent, I'm not a musician. I don't know exactly what you want me to tell you, but it sounded nice."

"Oh. It was just something I was tinkering with before the gig in a few minutes."

She raised an eyebrow, "a few minutes? Doesn't that mean you're going to be late? Again." Jane was less than surprised, but she assumed the motherly tone she hoped would one day motivate him more.

"Yeah, I guess I better go. See you later." He got up, hugged her, and left. They hadn't initiated much physical contact since childhood, so the hug caught her a bit off guard.

When she heard the door click downstairs, it pulled her out of her thoughts to where she still sat on Trent's perpetually unmade bed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the bolded, scratchy letters, "PRIVATE! DO NOT READ!" Of course, she was extremely tempted to do just that. Her brother wasn't exactly the deepest of bleeding heart musicians, but he was genuine.

"Maybe just a little peek." She flipped the pages of the notebook and stopped at a random point.

 _Jane, why do you look so down?_  
 _You know I'll always be around,_

 _Why do you seem so torn up?_  
 _I'm here to stitch your heart up,_

 _Don't cry, Janie, don't cry,_  
 _I'll give you all of my apple pie_

Her cheeks instantly turned pink. "I really hope 'apple pie' isn't a metaphor for something."

Jane lay the book back down in the place she had found it, halfway underneath an empty chip bag, and went back to her own bedroom where the canvas waited.


	2. Track 2

This second chapter flowed out quite well.

The lyrics took some time, though, as simple as they are.

* * *

A few hours of painting later and Jane was finished with her latest masterpiece, unusually satisfied. Artists were considered most critical of their own works, after all, and with that project out of the way, she decided to curl up under her blankets. No matter the actual time of day or night, she had to take advantage of the rare quiet in the house while Trent was gone.

Her eyes closed and the phone rang simultaneously. "Hello?"

The person on the other line sounded like they were crying.

Wind.

She slowly put the reciever back down.

. . . ÷ . . .

Voices woke Jane up suddenly. She could tell it was night out, despite the closed, heavy curtains. Forfeiting the idea of going back to sleep, she stood up and opened her window to listen. Maybe she'd overhear something interesting that she could relay to Daria later. The neighbors having a squabble over who would cook for the family gathering next weekend, perhaps?

"...if you weren't so..." The female voice was definitely Monique. Oh, how Jane disliked that woman.

She walked down the hall to the bathroom, concluding it wasn't that interesting at all.

Then, the front door slammed and a car sped off. Trent would be in a somber mood. Though he was always quite nonchalant, she could tell his feelings underneath his cool exterior. It was a talent that came with being close to a person for 19 years, she supposed.

Stairs creaked with his steps and moments later, the sound of violent guitar chords floated into the bathroom. She sighed, debating internally with herself. "This happens all the time, it would be pointless to talk to him."

Instead, she stripped off the clothes she'd worn to school that day and put on some comfortable shorts and a tank top that was most likely dirty. Neither she nor Trent were dilligent about doing the laundry.

He wouldn't hear a knock on the door over his anxious playing, so she invited herself into his room. "You okay?" She asked, as loudly as she could.

"Don't worry about me, Janie." He stopped playing.

"Okay. So, how did it go? The gig, I mean."

Trent shrugged.

"Have you changed the name of the band yet?"

Another shrug.

"Does the rain in Spain stay mainly in the plain?"

"I don't feel like talking right now." He grabbed the guitar and left the room, seeming more upset than usual about this routine break up.

Or, maybe this would be the last break up? Jane hoped so. Trent and Monique's relationship wasn't a very healthy one for obvious reasons, although they did have compatible personalities as far as she could tell. Constantly teetering between being together and not together takes a toll on one's emotions.

She knew she could probably find him in the car, writing or just brooding, but she decided to give him space, as always. The thought of being smothering made her cringe.

Back in her room, she'd forgotten all about the window still being open by the time she fell onto her mattress, but faint music could be heard coming from the street below.

 _Baby, your heart is a black hole,  
There's nothing inside,  
But I've got no where to go,  
I guess I'll run and hide,_

 _Sister, can you keep me?_

She was amused. Lyrically, it was one of Trent's better songs, Jane thought. Although, being her brother's keeper didn't sound like an occupation that paid enough.


End file.
